Officer John Watson, status: deceased?
by bethanie-xo
Summary: When John Watson is drafted back into the army what's he to do? Go, of course. But with the war raging on and harming more and more people he knows he won't return, as does Sherlock. But how do they both handle this?


"Sher-Sherlock." John stuttered, almost dropping the letter he'd just opened.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, a mouthful of toast, the only food John was able to make him eat daily, making it impossible to speak.

John looked up, his blue eyes filled with fear and pain and the memories, the memories of what happened last time, "They're pulling me back in, they need doctors." The minute he spoke the letter fluttered to the floor and Sherlock saw the insignia, the British Army.

He swallowed quickly, hurting his throat as he did so, but he ignored the slight pain as he spoke, "But your injuries?" he asked, surely they couldn't take John back in, he was shot. "Your shoulder?"

"They said that they need me. I have to go back," his hands were shaking in front of him, "It's not optional." His eyes welled up and he looked at Sherlock, fear radiating and tears threatening to overflow at any second. They both knew how it was out there, there was no point in sugar coating it but still they tried to be optimistic.

"When do you go?" Sherlock asked, his voice echoing in the quiet room, the rest of his toast discarded in front of him on a plate.

"4 weeks." John sighed and looked down.

"Oh." He looked down, that soon? He thought to himself. "Well, we'd better give you the best time ever for the next four weeks!" He exclaimed, smiling to hide exactly how he was feeling.

"Yes, then it'll give me more of a reason to come home!" John grinned, they both knew this wouldn't happen, it couldn't. They wouldn't have called John back up if it was safe out there. His skills are desperately needed and there's nothing they can do about it.

And for the next three weeks that was what they did, Sherlock deemed each case too boring and the police, without his help, were swamped. John was receiving letters and packages about everything that he needed to take.

When there was a week to go he walked into the living room with a bag in his hands. The bag was filled with green army clothes and it all had a dark green belt wrapped around it, he held it by the belt buckle and just stood there with Sherlock gazing at him.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock was the one to break the silence; he stood up and went over to the other man, placing his arm on Johns shoulder.

"It's all so real." He said. For the first time since the first day what was happening really hit him. His uniform had arrived and in a week he would have to turn up at the airport wearing it and kiss goodbye to his life.

Sherlock chuckled lightly. "John, of course it's real, you're going back out there, I thought you loved it?" He rubbed Johns shoulder reassuringly but his eyes were sad.

"I did love it. But now I have you, and the cases. What if I've found something that I love even more?" he asked, he looked up at Sherlock as his big blue eyes filled with tears, "I don't want to go, I'll die." Was all he could say before falling against the wall and scraping his back down the wall until he was sat on the floor. He wrapped his hands around his legs, still with a tight grip on the uniform.

"I know, but the army will give you a different sort of excitement to the cases, you probably loved the army more than you could ever love the cases." He said as he sat beside John, wringing his hands in front of him.

He shook his head slowly, "It's not just the cases, Sherlock. I love you." He whispered and he stared at the floor, picking at the wood.

"I love you too, remember that and go out there fighting. That should be a reason to come back."

John looked up, his eyes were watering but he smiled, "You love me?" he said, he clenched his fists. "You could have told me before, we've been wasting three weeks doing nothing. Why didn't you tell me?" He says, his eyes were wide and he seemed hurt.

"I didn't know how you felt, I mean I would feel ridiculous if only I felt it." He whispered, Johns loud voice echoed in his head.

"Sherlock, how could I not love you?" he said.

"I don't know, you just might not..." John cut him off as he made their lips collide.

"Don't forget me." He whispers, his voice husky and barely audible as he speaks against Sherlock's lips. He gives the other man no chance to reply as he almost jumps on him, pressing their bodies tight together and making their lips fit together like puzzle pieces. _Too long I have waited for this. _He thought as he held their bodies close, hunger overcame him and he pushed Sherlock to the floor, kicking his army uniform to the side.

"How could I?" he chuckles and pulls John closer to him.

_Dear Mr Holmes,  
We regret to inform you that Mr John Watson was killed in battle on January 15__th__. As his emergency contact both you and Harriet Watson have been informed and there is a letter coming soon about his arrival back in your country._

_Our deepest condolences, Officer Woods._

The letter fluttered to the table and Sherlock stood there, going over what he'd just read. _Killed in battle. _Those three words spiralled around his head, he could barely breathe, he couldn't think of anything to do. He just stood there until his phone vibrated.

_I am sorry, brother.-MH_

He ignored it. All he wanted was John, he didn't want his brothers sympathy, or Harriet's shared grief, he didn't want Mrs Hudson to read the letter and fuss. He just wanted John, _his _John.

'_Hello, you've reached John Watson. Sherlock is in possession of my phone at the moment and he's probably being annoying and not answering so drop by the flat, just to annoy him, if it's urgent. If not then leave a message and he'll tell me you called.-Beeeep-'_

"Why did you have to go and die? I need you, John."


End file.
